


unwilling god

by angelicwerewolf



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, Elder God, Eldritch, Gore, Horror, Not Beta Read, Supernatural Elements, also trying to edit the fic itself on mobile?, bc mako is a spooky man, bc when do I ever beta read the second I finish writing, its absolute hell, just wanted to write something spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicwerewolf/pseuds/angelicwerewolf
Summary: Who is he, a puny lesser god, to stand against the orders of Slagoragon?
Kudos: 1





	unwilling god

**Author's Note:**

> there’s more backstory/context/lore behind this at the end notes just in case,
> 
> enjoy!

Mako dragged the sharp of the blade across his already tender palm, scarred from many cuts in the past for the same purpose. He’d gotten used to it by now, evident as he squeezes his fist close through the pain to keep as much blood trapped.

He kneels down and sets the blade somewhere else, resting on his legs and his one good hand to smear the blood around him in a circle. He feels dirt and pebbles lodge into the wound and drag into the crevices of cut and flesh, further irritating the wound. After the circle came the symbols, and here he had to use his finger to draw both inside and outside of the circle.

They were squiggles and odd shapes or vague things that _seemed_ to resemble something but didn’t the more you looked. That, however, didn’t really matter to the man who already knew what these meant. As if on autopilot he jumps from one step to the other, pulling a box of matches from his cardigan to light the pre-placed candles.

The room became a dim glow of semi-clouded moonlight and lively firelight, shadowing the man’s face as well as the carved mural of Slagoragon in front of him. He eyed it close as it seemed to glow faintly against the light and almost glared at the godly figure, carved there in all of his world-devouring glory.

Without taking his eyes off of it, Mako squeezed his bleeding palm into a gothic goblet. He squeezed and squeezed until his wrist ached more than the pressure on such a large cut, until the old goblet was filled with enough blood. He didn’t need his blood for this— but he couldn’t be bothered to fetch a human’s blood right now.

He took the goblet by the handle, and turned it over into a pathing crack on the floor. The blood darkened and spread into the symbols of the circle as well up the own branching cracks of the mural before glowing an ominous, bright red.

Then a voice spoke; a large and booming voice that made bones want to tremble out their skin.

_“Son.”_

“Father.” Mako nodded towards the mural and put the goblet down. “I need your help.”

_“What is it? Gotten into trouble, you? I hope not, Mako.”_

Mako had to grit his teeth to stop himself from spouting something snarky, for if he spoke back to his father he’d be in trouble. “Far from it by my definitions.” He exhaled quietly. “It’s one of The Descendants. Unfortunately they’ve gone into hiding and I can’t track them down. I don’t think Balthazar is behind it, but I may be wrong.”

_“Have they now.” Slagoraron said, sounding unamused and impatient. “If you hadn’t gotten caught up in California, you would’ve been in Antarctica for your next job.”_

“Please spare me this one, Father. I had to study, did I not? You told me yourself.”

_“Yes, but the studies can wait. The Plan cannot.” The voice sighed a great impatient noise, then growled. “Bring me someone close to The Descendant, like a close friend, and sacrifice them to me.” As the voice began to fade, along with the bright glow of blood and light, Slagoragon warned. “You’ll know the rest. Do not disappoint me.”_

Mako only nodded again to fading voice and following silence, flicking his lidded eyes to the floor in another glare. “Understood, Father.” The man said even if his father couldn’t hear, speaking to the air more for a peace of mind.

  
  


___________

  
  


“This isn’t personal. Not to me, at least— Stop squirming!”

The man grunts and drops the figure in tight rope bounds and duct tape, which muffled the man's noises of protests and indistinguishable pleas. If only he would’ve stayed unconscious, but Mako doesn’t feel like butting the end of his blade against the man’s head again. That might kill him on the spot— or damage his blade.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. It’ll be easier to just give in, but I know you won’t.” The man squirmed again as he tried to worm himself free with more muffled noises, as if to prove Mako’s point, who pressed his foot into the man’s chest to keep him there.

Mako didn’t say anything further, opting to watch the man instead whose eyes suddenly glaze over him to the mural behind him. He tends to forget not many people know of eldritch and elder gods— never mind how grotesque and impossible they look like, himself included even if lesser and rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He was so different from his father, too, who had the appearance of a mountain with the jagged and sharp spines and teeth of sharp boulders at the bottom of a dangerous pit. He himself, though? He’s more aquatic, but he’s getting off track.

Mako shakes his head to leave the trance his in and leans down to the mural-captivated individual, working to cut the ropes around his torso. At least he didn’t have to worry about setting up a ritual, as it'd already been prepared prior to finding the poor sucker.

Who quite unfortunately came to a tad _too_ late to prepare himself for the large blade that plunged straight into his chest, the sharp tooth breaking ribs clean into parts as it dug right into the heart.

Mako’s not sure what killed him first, or when he did, because by the time he dragged the blade down across his chest to open him up and look at him— Well, Mako really could use a heartbeat monitor. “I’m really sorry.” He whispers as if his Father would hear. He didn’t much care for people, but deep down he didn’t wish to hurt them. The world wasn’t on his side though, from the day fate decided his little miserable soul was to be the son of a world-destroying god.

He just had to detach himself from this horror and hope for the best, so he continued with the ritual. Mako rolled up the sleeves of his cardigan and reached into the rib cavity, snapping bones until he pulled the heart out with his bare hands, unbothered by the noises and sight all the way.

The sacrifices to his father were weird, he quietly remarked as he set the heart in the same goblet from earlier, but what was he to expect of a creature like his father anyways?

Mako shrugged, continuing in silence then— he was almost done with this entire mess. His bandages really did need a change already as he starts to clean his hands on a previously pristine towel, so good thing he can take them right off and draw blood again. He pulled them off as well as the dead man’s duct tape, held his hand over his mouth and slid the blade against such a fresh wound still. The blood dribbled quick down into the man’s mouth and after a good mouthful of it, stuffed the heart into the source’s mouth.

Next— He carried the body to the middle of the same obscure and hidden Slagoragon temple. A few tiles in front of him started to rumble before spilling salty-scented water , bubbling and acting like a corrosive acid for a moment to dissolve the old stone tiles into water as well, melting away into a dimensional pool to the ocean near the Caribbean Sea. It opens a perfect, wide circle, despite the square floors, and stop right at Mako’s feet.

The powers his mother granted him were far more interesting than his father’s, but that’s also besides the point. He threw the sacrifice into the water, churning the clear green-blue sea into an almost inky liquid from which everchanging tendrils sprouted and dragged the man down into the depths. Mako closed up the hole with a snap of his fingers and everything went back to normal, back to an eerie silence.

For a very short moment.

_“Mako.”_ He heard in his head rumbling the cavity of his damn brain. _“Your enemy awaits. Balthazar, he’s got the lost worm.”_

It’s gonna be one of those _fun,_ infuriating damn goose chases.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> mako, at some point probably: tfw your dad is a world-devouring god bent on destroying earth and your mom is literally the ocean, amirite???
> 
> for context:  
> Mako Vino is the son of Slagoragon, an elder space horror god that came down to earth to conquer and then devour it. That however didn’t go according to plan, as another of his own kind came to protect the earth from evil gods such as him, and was successfully imprisoned and sealed down in the depths of the ocean near the Caribbean Sea by The Elder Goddess with the help of five humans.
> 
> He laid dormant for centuries, having been striped of his powers due to the magic seal that kept him trapped, but he had enough to create something small. So when he awoke, he created his only son, Mako, mothered by the ocean herself. He’s an aquatic horror able to take the form of a human form, unlike his father who’s got no shapeshifting and is a space horror.
> 
> Slagoragon wants to escape and finish what he started, so he sent Mako out to sacrifice the latest descendant of the five humans that sealed him away, as Mako is not affected by their and the goddess’s magic. Mako leaves the sea then to be among humans and lives in Puerto Rico for awhile, learning for some more years, then moves to California to start his mission officially in which he runs into a constant complication: Balthazar, who is the son of the Elder Goddess.
> 
> This snippet takes place somewhere in Europe.


End file.
